Justice
by John Proctor
Summary: "It was like he was stuck in a replay of his life: sidled with only feelings of guilt, destroying him from the inside, while the blazing flames demolished his exterior. This was Hell." Set between Becoming partI and Anne - Angel's journey in Hell. I don't really know if it's "Spiritual" but it's set in Hell so...


At first, he was just falling; falling and falling further into some never-ending pit. It must have been what flying felt like. But Angel didn't register why, or where he was falling to until he got there. His mind was trapped - locked onto the memory of the agony he felt as he shouted for the woman he loved, clawing at the solid ground on the street outside his apartment while cold, hard droplets of rain slapped against his skin. It was almost like his brain thought for a moment that he was still there.

But that night had passed long ago and he writhed in pain as he remembered his actions since. It wasn't gradual; the memories came flooding back to him at once, puncturing his conscience like the sharp sword that Buffy had run through his un-beating heart. "Buffy?... Buffy!" he yelped in anguish through the confusion in his mind as he remembered how he'd turned on her, hurt her and tried to destroy her. "No, no! Stop. Stop it. What are you doing? You love her. Buffy! Jenny! Giles! Make it stop." he begged "Make it stop!"

And it stopped. He'd finished remembering, and now, he simply knew every evil deed he'd done. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" he repeated, battling the breathlessness caused by the suffocation of his own tearful grief. The memories had stopped playing in his head, but the torment was still there. He disgusted himself and was sickened at the thought of the things he'd done.

He began to feel a different kind of stinging agony. It wasn't remorse or guilt or self-hatred, it was physical - he was burning all over, engulfed in a flaming tomb of smoky suffocation. Distracted by his thoughts, he hadn't noticed it before. It seems a silly thing not to notice, but the confusion in his mind hadn't allowed him to process so much at once and the sheer rush of guilt took him over so completely that he was unable to realise his surroundings. The fire was burning every inch of his body, it wrapped around him: a thick blanket on a hot summer's night. Uncomfortable agony. His skin grew redder as the scorching flames danced on his peeling flesh and blazed more intensely. He would scream and shout and moan, but no one would hear - or was it just that no one would come?

As he burned, all of his evil deeds played out before his eyes. It was like he was stuck in a replay of his life: sidled with only feelings of guilt, destroying him from the inside, while the blazing flames demolished his exterior. This was Hell; the place he'd had the worst of nightmares about, knowing he'd have to be there eventually. But this place was not possible to dream of, beyond the realm of human imagination. This was the harshest of punishments and the heart of justice. And the worst of it was, Angel knew that he deserved it all.

1754, Galway, Ireland – a woman dressed in a long white dress with her hair tied in a bun and tucked under her hat walked alone at night. "What's a pretty little lass like you doing walkin' alone at this late hour?" Angelus quizzed and the girl's cheeks turned rosy red.

"Why sir, I'm just returning home from my dear fiancé's house. We met just a week ago you see and have fallen madly in love." she teased, knowing men only want one thing...

Angelus was impressed by her wit and confidence. "These streets aren't safe, when the sun is down, evil creatures and demons haunt the alleyways waiting for young women like y'self. I shall walk you home."

"I must confess, sir, that I don't agree that there are demons on this earth. God keeps them locked up in Hell, the only evil here is within ourselves. Thank you, but I can walk myself home."

His voice turned deeper and more sinister and he grumbled "That's an interesting idea m'lady, but not at all factual."

"How can you be..." she trailed off when she looked at the creases around Angelus' eyes and shrieked when she saw his sharp canines. She ran as fast as she could, and Angelus gave her a head-start: it was more fun that way.

He caught up to her, grabbed her by the arm and swivelled her around so that her back was pressed against his chest, she squirmed in his arms trying to get free but Angelus was too strong. He pulled her head to the side and sank his teeth into her narrow neck.

"NO!" Angel shouted, mortified by the scene. He'd experienced again the thrill of the chase and the warmth of the blood pumping gently out of her veins, he felt her heartbeat slow down and switch off as he drained the life out of her limp body, only this time, he'd enjoyed none of it.

Millions of murders looped in his mind so clearly that it was as if all of his two hundred and forty-two years of existence were reoccurring now. Each murder was distinguishable from all of the others, none were overlooked or forgotten. He relived each moment exactly as it had happened, unable to even pause the singeing pain of his slow and bitter destruction. As his sanity inched away, the only thing Angel was certain of was that he would never receive peace. He would never be forgiven for what he had done, because forgiveness for him didn't exist. A man like him would be expected to believe in forgiveness in order to find some sort of peace, but Angel never did, because no matter how many times he would save the world, he would never be able to rid it of the damage he had once inflicted upon it. And so he endured the pain, as if it were his duty.


End file.
